I'm the only survivor, and I wish I was dead. Anything would be better than the hell that is my life, than the memories that haunt my head. Memories I cannot escape. It's like dreaming while you're awake. The past runs through my mind again and again, and I can't stop it. God, I want it to stop! But I know God has forsaken me He has allowed all of us to become the playthings of devils, and now only I remain.
We mortals cling to life as if it were so precious, but I can tell you there are things worse than death. Things worse than Hell itself if that is what awaits me in the hereafter. Those things, they lurk inside of us, inside the human mind. They lurked on this wretched island, too. It's as if Hell itself opened up and took residence here and transformed itself into something beyond evil ... into pure horror. And the devils. Oh, the devils! They lurk as well, both within and without. I am at their mercy, but I fear such creatures know not the meaning of the word.
I know you're asking yourself, “How did I come to such a fate?” Let me tell you, there is quite a story to answer that question. Quite a tale indeed.
I'll tell you the tale. It helps to pass the time and to occupy my tormented mind. Time is such a relative thing. Spend time with a beautiful woman and an hour can seem like a minute. Spend it watching the grass grow and a minute can seem like an hour. Too much time is my problem ... too much time and too many memories.
I'll tell you the tale, but I don't know if I can finish it. I don't know if I want to finish it. Or if you'll want me to finish it. Chances are you'll ask me stop ... to spare you from the details of it all, but please let me tell you. Just to pass the time. I'll skip sections if you want, but then you won't get the full story. Someone should here this story. It needs to be told. It needs to be studied by great minds, to be told over campfires, perhaps even to be written for future generations. If I tell it, will you write it?
I'll tell you the tale, but you won't believe it. You'll say I made it up, or worse yet, you'll call me a madman, but its true, every word. I swear it upon my soul, may God still bless it in this forsaken place. I won't make up a thing. I don't have to because I can remember it all, every word that was said, every action, every sound, every smell. I remember because that is all I can do. It is my curse to remember ... to relive the horror.
I will tell you the tale, if that is what you want, but be careful what we want and what we get is often very different.
I will tell you the tale, just give me a moment to think in silence.